Better Days And Nights
by Clesta
Summary: What if it wasn't Luke that Lulu went searching for in the brothel, but Luke who was searching for long-lost Lulu, who is held by the monstrous Javier? Will Dante be able to save her? Some revisionist history of GH. Dante/Lulu pairing eventually.
1. Chapter 1: The Prologue

**Prologue**

Detective Dante Falconeri parked his car outside of The Haunted Star Casino at 8:55 on a foggy Sunday morning. The place looked as deserted as the name implied, but Dante knew that the bulk of the high class customers that frequented the joint would all be safely tucked into bed slightly after sunrise—or what would be sunrise if this small New York town ever got any in the winter. Dante took a moment to look around at the harbor where the boat was docked.

He'd been in Port Charles for over a year, following up an undercover case that brought him here to take down the major mob kingpin, Michael "Sonny" Corinthos, Junior. Now that the case was finished and the town was rid of its long time terror, Dante decided to stay on in the charming port town as a detective. He knew the local PD had made him a generous offer when they told him what his new salary would be, but even then, he was taking a pay cut from his non-so-glamorous days as a Bensonhurst street cop.

The undercover work had taken a toll on him. He wasn't so eager to return to running back alleys and side streets in pursuit of petty thieves and drug dealers. Nor was he ready to jump into work with the FBI, who also tried to persuade him they could use a man of his talents. He was tired. Ready to settle down. Start really enjoying life. Problem was, with the mob in Port Charles under control, the past month, after the trial, had been too quiet. Perhaps that was why Dante agreed to take a meeting with the very successful, very mysterious, Luke Spencer, proprietor of the casino Dante was now about to enter.

Dante had heard of Luke through the Port Charles Police Department grape vine. Wealthy businessman. Divorced, then remarried into the Quartermaine family, Port Charles' old money. Owner and Operating Manager of the towns local hot spot, The Haunted Star. However, this was as much as Dante knew about the man. This was as much as most anyone knew about the man, other than his estranged son who was also on the police force. Lucky never talked about his father. No one ever asked him to talk, knowing full well there was bad blood between the father and son for as long as anyone could remember. That was pretty much the extent of what Dante could determine.

Dante didn't like being summoned by this man. He wasn't even really sure why he responded to the note that was delivered to his desk by some kid in a monkey suit the day before yesterday. Even now, as he prepared to enter through the back door, Dante wasn't sure what he was doing here.

After rapping on the door a couple of times, as instructed by the note, Dante was greeted by a man, no older than himself, dressed immaculately in a dark, costly looking suit. The man opened the door, waited for Dante to enter, then, all without a word, started leading Dante down a richly carpeted hallway. About three quarters down the hall, the man stopped at a large, mahogany door and opened it so Dante could enter. Looking at the man, then around the deserted hallway, Dante took a cautious step forward , then another. The room was exactly what he had expected a casino owner's office to be: rich red with gold leafed wall paper covered the walls to the chair rail, where a dark paneling took over to the floor. A large, well organized desk was the center of the room with a stately office chair behind it. The chair was deserted, so Dante slowly turned to take in the rest of the room. To Dante's right, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle being uncorked.

"Just in time, my boy," a silver-haired man said as he poured the scotch from the now opened bottle into a high-ball glass. "Do you prefer on the rocks, or straight?"

"Uh, don't you think it's a little early to start on the scotch? Sir?" He hesitantly added the sir at the end because it seemed like the right thing to do considering the man's mature age, his reputation as a shrewd business owner, and the strange circumstances of the summons and subsequent meeting.

"Sir?" The man laughed, a good hearty chuckle that made him seem more human than any of the small talk and curiosity of the town may have let on. "My boy, I hope by then end of this meeting, you will feel obliged to call me Luke. I have a very lucrative business offer for you of the most sensitive nature, and I never make a deal with a man I don't trust enough to call me by my first name. I do, however, appreciate the show of respect. That's one of the reasons why I've picked you. The commissioner says you are of a high moral character."

"You've talked to Police Commissioner Scorpio about me, sir, er, um" he trailed off, thoroughly confused as to what he was doing here and what this man was talking about. Was this to be official police business, then? But that just didn't add up.

The man, who wanted Dante to call Luke, was chuckling again. "I can see you are entirely confused. Let's sit and discuss the matter further. How about that scotch?"

"None for me, thank you. It's a little early for my taste," Dante declined respectfully.

"No matter. Hope you won't mind if I indulge myself. When you're in my business, this is just the end of the evening, see? It's time to start winding down. I just happened to like to enjoy a couple of glasses of fine scotch before I head off to bed. Or when I get up for that matter. Sit, sit. Let me explain why you are here." The man gestured towards a set of black leather wing tipped chairs next to the bar where he had been pouring drinks. Luke downed his glass, poured himself another, and topped the bottle as Dante walked tentatively towards the sitting area.

The office was void of many personal affects, but the end table between the two chairs held what looked to be a photo album.

"Detective," Luke began as he seated himself on one of the chairs. He switched out the photo album for the glass as he continued. "I'd like you to, unofficially, of course, meet my family." He opened up the cover and pointed the book towards Dante, now seated in the other chair, to display a young family of four. Luke was quickly recognizable, so was a young Lucky, but the two women in the photograph were unfamiliar to Dante.

"This is the last family picture the four of us ever had taken. My wife, Laura, and I started having marital difficulties shortly after. Well, perhaps the difficulties began before that. I'm not a terribly good family man, see? I've always had a hankering to up and leave at the drop of a hat. Never been one to stay around one place too long. Even while running the Star here, I get a hankering to go someplace, so I pick up and leave, easy as that. I've got the money and the staff that allows me to do it now, too. But in those days, I felt trapped, tied down. Laura knew it and was unhappy. Laura and the kids lived on edge, never knowing when they'd wake up one day and be gone. I always came back, of course. Eventually. Even took Lucky on a few of my adventures, too. But Leslie, well, I'm afraid I wasn't a good father to her at all."

He turned the page to show a baby blonde girl in pigtails, perhaps about 10 years old, smiling brightly for the camera. The photo looked as if it was taken by a school photographer. What would that make her? Third grade?

"Leslie took it hard when Laura and I started fighting all the time. I was gone more often. The girl would cry and hang on my legs when I would get home, begging me not to leave again. It only got worse as time went on. The summer before her fifteenth birthday, Laura and I split for good. I had driven Laura mad and she was admitted into the Shadybrook Institution shortly after. She's never been the same woman since.

"We had decided that we would send Leslie off to a boarding school during that final year of marriage. It was more convenient for me to leave if Leslie wasn't around to disappoint, and Laura was already on her way to checking out. Lucky had already finished high school and was moving out on his own by that time, so Leslie got the brunt of the domestic disputes.

"We shipped her off to Paris, to a boarding school that offered a dual language and college preparatory education. I'll never forget the hate in her eyes as she looked at me before she boarded the plane. She looked right at me and said 'I'll never forgive you for this, father. I hope I never see you again.'"

The page had turned again to reveal a young woman, perhaps about fifteen. The baby blond darkened slightly, and the long hair hung loosely around her face in gentle curls. She was a pretty girl, but the sparkle had completely gone from her eyes. She was barely smiling.

Dante sat, studying the picture, not fully comprehending what all this was for. Why is Luke telling him all of this? Why would a man who seemed to keep so many secrets decide to open up to a complete stranger?

"She was prophetic, my Leslie was. I haven't seen her since her fateful proclamation." Dante glanced up at Luke and saw the hurt darkening in his eyes. "I regret what I've done to my children every day that I am alive. Can you understand that Dante? How much a man can regret ostracizing his own offspring, for the simple reason that he wished to be free of them? I don't know if I can ever forgive myself."

The men sat in silence for a while as Dante pondered how to respond to this broken man before him. Luke was obviously lost in his own world of regret, so it really didn't matter if Dante spoke now or not. Realizing this, he simply waited. Waited for the man to tell him where he fit into this picture.

"I have to know that she is okay. I have to know if she is happy. I may not be able to make up for where I have failed in the past, I may never earn or deserve her forgiveness, but at least I may be able to sleep better if I know for sure she is safe. That, Dante, is where you come in."

"Me, sir? What can I do?" Dante was baffled. He was just a Port Charles Police Detective. She obviously wasn't in Port Charles or Luke would surely know about it.

"Why, I'm asking you to find her! I've seen the newspapers. I've talked to Commissioner Scorpio. I know what you did to take down Sonny Corinthos, and I believe you are exactly the detective that can find my daughter," Luke admitted.

"I'm not that kind of detective, sir. I—"

"Don't call me 'sir.' It's Luke now. You're in on all the family secrets. And I won't take no for an answer. I've already discussed this matter with Scorpio. He's an old family friend. He agreed that after the Corinthos bust, you're due for a holiday from the force and he doesn't mind if you take that time helping me out. I'm prepared to pay all of your traveling costs and living expenses for wherever you may end up. I'm also prepared to pay the rent on your apartment while you are gone, as well as, upon finding her and bringing me proof of her whereabouts and lifestyle, a half a million dollars for your troubles. You can start today if you'd like." With that, he handed the family album to Dante, took up the glass again, downed the entire contents, and got up to walk towards the bar.

"You'll find the rest of that book you're holding has any information those other, inferior, detectives have been able to dig up. The trail seems to always end in Paris with a man named Javier Dupont in 2004 after Leslie graduated from the boarding school. His background information is in the folder, but he and Leslie seemed to both disappear from records at that point." Luke pours another glass of scotch before turning back to Dante. "I have taken the liberty of opening a credit card for a false business for wine imports called "New York Wine Imports, Inc," all debts to be paid by myself. There is also an envelope with $10,000 cash. You'll find them both on the desk with the cellular phone programmed with my number and all of the latest traveling applications. You can take the album with you, of course. The latest photograph of Leslie from her Senior year at school is also in there, as well as contact information for her dorm mate and anyone else who may have information on where she may be. Although, I'll caution you, other private detectives have tried come up with nothing from those sources, other than this Javier character. What do you say, Dante? Can you find my Leslie?"

Dante sat in stunned silence as he tried to absorb all that Luke had told him. Did he really want to go off on a wild goose chase for some girl who may not want to be found, or for that matter, may already be dead? She probably fell in love with this guy and ran off and is living in some small town on the Riviera, with a happy little family. She probably didn't want to be bothered by the hurt from her past.

However, the money did sound nice, as well as a chance to travel a bit. He'd always wanted to see Paris, maybe take in an opera while there. He had a job here in Port Charles, but it sounded like his boss would take him back whenever the job was completed or the search was abandoned. And wasn't he yearning for a little more adventure than Port Charles had to offer him right now?

As he pondered, Luke studied the man that held his last hope of finding his beloved daughter. He dangled one last carrot. "This Javier. He has a shady past. He's several years older than Leslie, and her classmates seemed to think that maybe she was in some kind of trouble. I would really feel better knowing that she was safe." Luke saw the surprise in Dante's eyes and inwardly smiled. He knew Dante was the chivalrous type and would rush to the aid of a damsel in distress. He was counting on that piece of information working, even if the excitement of a good, hard case didn't interest him.

Dante collected his thoughts and began to think forward as to his next step.

"One question, Mr. Spencer. Why don't you do this on your own? You said yourself that you're a bit of a rambler, so why don't you go off looking for your own daughter?"

"I tried. In the early years, after I had realized the mistake I had made in sending her away. Never got very far. I look for her face every time I pull up in a new port, too. But, she doesn't want to see me. If she had, I'm not terribly difficult to find. So, I'm resolved to be happy just knowing that she is safe and well taken care of." The older man grew sad and introspective again.

Dante continued while standing up with the book in hand, "I assume you'll want this kept quiet, but if you don't mind, I'd like to ask that Spinelli kid to do some checking on the internet. I know he's discreet since he worked for Corinthos all those years and the poor guy's out of work now, looking for any little task to help him out. Would that be alright?"

"Do what you have to do. I don't care who knows I'm looking for my daughter. Just—" He hesitated and came towards Dante, meeting his eyes. "Just promise me you won't tell her anything about me. Get just close enough to make sure she's okay, but don't let her know I sent you. I don't want her to have to face anything she doesn't want to remember."

The men stood toe to toe, each contemplating the other and the task at hand.

"Luke, you have yourself a deal." Dante stretched out his hand.

"Dante, I am so relieved to hear you say that." Luke took Dante's hand and gave it one firm shake.

Just as the men in Port Charles were make a deal that would change her life, Leslie Spencer closed the door behind her as she entered her small, drab apartment. She removed her rain drenched overcoat and hung it on the peg, which was really just a nail, by the door. She had already changed out of her work clothes after her shift, then walked the streets until she knew she was exhausted enough she could fall asleep immediately when she finally went to bed.

She had become accustomed to those early morning walks. She often found herself in Jackson Square looking at the massive St. Louis Cathedral and wondering what her life could have been. It was easier not to think of the twists and turns her life had taken in the past 7 years when she was walking the streets, taking in the morning sounds of New Orleans, than it was to try not to think when lying in bed, praying for sleep.

After changing into her pajamas, fixing herself a cup of hot tea to ward away the chill of the morning rain, Lulu, as she was now called, ran over a list of things she needed to do this evening on her night off, and went off to bed, where she fitfully slept and dreamed of better days, and nights.


	2. Chapter 2: The Arrival

The Arrival

Dante was only slightly upset that his travels didn't lead him to Paris. The positive side was that he got an immediate lead when he took the information he knew to Spinelli. After pouring over the photo album, which was really more of a dossier of Leslie Spencer and Javier Dupont, Dante had called the brilliant computer hacker to meet him at Kelly's. Dante felt like he must have drank an entire pot of coffee while Spinelli worked his magic. All the while, Dante never asked if what he genius was doing was legal or not. "The less you know when it comes to Spinelli…" he thought to himself

But Spinelli was exactly the right first step to finding Leslie Spencer. God only knows how he did it, but there was a record of both Javier and Leslie entering the country in 2007 from Paris at the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport. Upon further investigation into Javier, Spinelli found that the man was the inheritor of a well-known bordello in Paris in 2005 that burned to the ground months before Javier and Leslie journeyed to America.

Assuming Javier didn't stray far from the pimp business, Spinelli had procured a list of potential establishments in New Orleans in the hopes of finding Javier, while Dante booked a flight to the newly rebirthed city.

That was all mere hours ago.

The flight attendant announced the final decent into New Orleans where the local time was 7:35 p.m. and wished all her passengers a _bon voyage_ as they continued on their travels.

It was no Paris, but maybe, Dante thought to himself, he could pick up some French.

Lulu woke with a start, whipping her head towards the alarm clock that read 7:43. She had been dreaming again, but this time, the dream was far more wonderful than the nightmares that usually plagued her. She couldn't put her finger on what exactly she was dreaming about, but she remembers feeling—happy? She couldn't remember the last time she had been truly happy. Oh, how she wished she could return to that dream. As she tried to recall the particulars, she realized that something had woken her.

Then she heard it; the pounding on the door. She knew by the heaviness of the hits that it was her own waking nightmare, Javier.

"I'm coming!" She called out brightly, hoping her own cheerfulness could lift his seemingly dark mood. She rushed towards the bedroom door, cursing herself for wearing such sensible pajamas to bed that morning. It would only serve to make Javier even angrier that he should come over and not find her in his satin and lace presents. She was expected to be fully presentable to him at all times. She spent great care making sure she was always waxed smooth, French manicure and pedicure always properly painted, hair properly dyed dark brown, never a blond root to be found. In addition, he always expected her to be properly dressed for every occasion, including his random house calls.

As she reached the front door to her apartment, the pounding had ceased. She inhaled deeply as she reached for the door knob, desperately hoping Javier was not here to cause trouble.

"Hey!" she exclaimed as she threw the door open.

"_Bonjour, ma chérie_." Javier swept into the apartment leaving Lulu at the door. Closing it behind them, Lulu wondered at the cause of the visit. It had been months since Javier had bothered to visit her. He had moved on to a younger model, a blond no less. He always seemed to prefer blonds, which is why she was so confused by the way he always insisted she kept her hair dyed. He would always babble about how it was so becoming to her naturally pale complexion. She has stopped caring long ago, when she realized that she hadn't recognized herself when looking a mirror for years before the color change.

Javier turned to face her, eyes raking her from head to toe.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I see I have not been visiting enough to keep you on your toes, _chéri_. You have been lax with the wardrobe I see." He removed his suit jacket and lay it across the end of a chair.

Lulu placed her hands together, arms full length, as if to cover her most private area. Not that anything of hers was private to Javier. Her eyes turned down to the floor. She knew better than to answer him. Anything she could say would only serve to make him angry, if he wasn't already. One never knew Javier's true temperament.

"And when I tried my key in the lock, it would not work. Did you change the lock on me,_ chéri_? Do you think you can keep me out of your house and out of your bed?" He began walking towards her, a crooked grin lighting his face. As he reached her, he brought up two fingers to her chin, raising her head so she would look him in the eye.

Looking at him, Lulu knew why he was there. He expected, even desired, to see terror in her eyes.

"Lulu," he cooed, "darling. Answer me." The grin on his face never receding, he began stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Remember, Javier. I told you about the break in a month ago. I replaced the lock because they had broken the previous one. I placed a new key on your desk in the office." Lulu resisted the urge to shiver at his touch.

"_Vous êtes une putain couchée_." In an instant, his gentle caresses became a violent grip of her face and jaw and his grin became a grimace. His clutching made it impossible for her to cry out any louder than a whimper. She fought back the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. This was what he had come for. To see her weak and at his mercy.

While his left hand gripped her face, his right pulled back, forming a fist, and struck her in her stomach. As she doubled over in pain, he released her face so she could fall to the floor, breathless.

"You lying whore," he repeated, in English this time as he walked around her, watching her gasping for the breath that had been taken from her. "You think you can fool me? You think you do not have to do as I say? You little fool."

There was a time when Lulu may have begged for mercy. Pleaded with him to believe her. A younger Lulu would have cried out for him to believe her, to forgive her. But that was Leslie. That was a Leslie that was young and in love. Who believed that it was her fault that he was angry and that she could make it better by trying harder next time. But the next time was always the same. And the next time, and the next time. It wasn't until moving back to the States did she realize that he had been seeing other women the entire time they were together. Shortly after, he moved her into her own place that he paid the rent on so he could have her always at his mercy, but never in his home. It was then that a high school love affair gone wrong, got even worse.

Lulu had gathered her breath and debated getting up. But she knew that he would only knock her down again. He was fond of bodily pain. He never hit her in the face anymore. Her face was too valuable to him. Even if he bruised her body until it was purple, her face would remain flawless. He could still have her serving drinks if her face was still intact.

"Come on, then," Javier shouted as he kicked her soundly in the right kidney. "Get up. Have you forgotten how I like it when you fight back? Get up." He kicked her again.

Lulu writhed on the floor in pain and choked back a pained sob each time. Javier knelt down astride her legs and grabbed her shoulder so she was forced to look up at him. She tried to close her eyes and shut out his angry face, but reservedly opened them again as she knew it would just garnish more punishment if she tried to resist him. Pinning down her legs with his heavy ankles, he pressed his hands harder into her shoulder blades and brought his mouth down to her neck, running his nose down to the high neckline of her old high school sweatshirt. She involuntarily turned her face way from him struggled slightly.

"That's right, _mon petit chaton_. Try to get away, kitten. You just try to run. You know what will happen if you do ever try to truly escape me." He gripped the neckline of the old shirt and tore it away from her body. The fabric gave reluctantly, tearing at the back of her neck as he pulled it far enough to expose her breasts. He grabbed them both roughly in his hands, bringing his mouth down to her right nipple and biting hard. Lulu cried out and tried to buck him off with her hips.

"Oh, you like that, _chéri_?" He grinned deviously as he pressed himself into her pelvis, then bit down on her breast again, this time on the soft flesh. His left hand began to roam, clutching at her as he moved downward. She could feel his thumb pressing into her bruised stomach, and his fingers gripping her wounded kidney. It was only then that her tears began to fall, more from the pain than the shock or horror of the assault.

His right hand reached towards her mass of dark hair, clutched it, then pulled so her head yanked to the side. His left pulled at her pajama bottoms until they were nearly to her ankles. This is the way it was with Javier after—well, since before the fire he started in his father's bordello in Paris. It wasn't until moving to New Orleans that Javier put her to work for him. She was no longer his lover, she was his whore, sold to the highest bidder. And there was no escape for her. She had stopped fighting long ago.

Javier had unbuckled his expensive suit pants and pulled them down to his knees, knocking Lulu's legs to the side, kicking off her pants, and entered her roughly. There was no passion in his movements, only rage, hatred. As he pumped furiously, he grumbled into her ear, "_Vous êtes mine. Vous n'aurez jamais échapper__._" And Lulu knew it was true. She was his. She could never escape. There was no hope for her.

To her horror and disgust, she found herself beginning to pant for breath. The familiar feelings of pleasure and pain began to rise inside of her and she felt herself coming to a climax. His movements slowed, torturing her, teasing her, recalling a time when Javier hid the true monster he really was from her and when she was in love.

His hands began, not to grab her any longer, but to caress her. The hand that had been tugging her hair came to rest on her cheek and she leaned into its warmth. The one he had used to support himself on the floor, reached behind her back to pull her up towards him as he moved to sit on his knees. The pain almost entirely forgotten now, Lulu allowed herself to be swept up in the feel of him. She brought her own arms around his back, raking her perfect nails across the back of his shirt so she could rest her hands on his shoulders, where she held and leaned back, further increasing the pressure of his groin between her thighs. She expertly arched her back to feel him fully inside her. His hand leaving her cheek to run down the length of her breasts and torso and back up to cup her breast.

He quickened the pace again, rotating his hips in an imperfect circular motion, causing her to moan aloud and closer her eyes in ecstasy. Then all at once, he stopped. His hands moved from her back and breast to under her shoulders where he pushed her forcefully away from him. She flew back several feet where her outer thigh caught on the coffee table and she landed awkwardly with one arm on the couch, another grasping the table for support.

"I told you, _chiton_, that you would like it. Of course you would. You are a whore." He pulled up his pants as he stood, then buttoned them. She lay, unmoving in her awkward position. She was used to this type of abuse, cruel and cold. But as he continued, she felt the full sting of his anger. "For lying to me, you will not be allowed to see my son this week. You will report to work as usual, without pay. Wretched bitch." With that he spit in her direction, grabbed his jacket and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

After he had gone, sobs filled Lulu's throat. She tried to choke them back. Crying would do no good. The brutality, she could handle, but his absolute malice in denying her access to her son, she could never get used to. She was only allowed to see him once a week, each Monday, while under supervision of his governess, a wretched old French woman Javier had found while they were still in Paris. She hadn't understood then why she should need a governess for her son. She fully intended to raise him herself in his father's house. But after her recovery from the birth and the news that she could bear no more children, Javier changed towards her.

Feeling her physical injuries fully now, she warily lifted herself out of the awkward position, and began to stumble towards her bedroom. _No use worrying about this now_, she thought to herself. _I must keep my appointment. _

She dressed to go out for her weekly 9 o'clock appointment at Madame Bonet's salon, where she would be plucked, dyed, filed, and painted to near perfection. With the exclusion of the bruises now covering her torso which would be sufficiently covered by the clothes she would carefully choose, it would appear to those who viewed her that nothing had happened.

Dante checked in to a small, stately hotel just off of the French Quarter. He registered as Dominic Pirelli, for fear the news of the Corinthos trial had reached this far south, and paid with his New York Wine Imports, Inc credit card. After settling into the room, Dante carefully studied the list of bordellos and strip clubs that were possible links to Javier Dupont, then marked each carefully on the street map of New Orleans he had spread out on the room's breakfast table. There were 14 business in the area, and Dante hoped that at least one of them could give him a link to either Javier or Leslie Spencer. He doubted the likelihood of finding the couple still together or even still in New Orleans, but Dante felt an excitement just being in a new city, on a new case, and he felt determined to make the best of it.

Tomorrow, he would go buy a couple of expensive suits in order to pull off the wine importer role, as well as rent a car worthy of his new, higher economic station, and study the wine information that Luke had cleverly provided within the dossier.

By the time Dante had settled in and made plans for the following day, his head hit the pillow slightly after midnight and he fell into the dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted.


	3. Chapter 3: The Search

**The Search**

Dante was unaccustomed to flashing money around, but he was certain he liked spending money that was not his. During the day he had purchased 2 new suits and various collared shirts and ties. While dressing so immaculately didn't necessarily excite him, it was necessary to fully reinvent Dominic Pirelli, from a street punk wanting to get into the mafia, to a wine _aficionado_ from New York, wishing to expand his business in New Orleans, as well as to enjoy a few comforts the night life had to offer.

Dante knew it wouldn't be difficult for him to pull off a suave, dashing young man. It was the business part that he was still unsure he would be able to handle. Of course, Sonny had placed enough faith in his abilities to be willing to turn over the entire organization to him, so Dante entered the first strip club on his list at 8:05 Monday evening, with the knowledge that he, Dominic Perelli, was exactly the man the owner of this club had been waiting for.

Displaying his New York driver's license, registered to his undercover alter-ego, to the bouncer at the doorway, Dante flashed a bright smile. He also handed over the $20 entrance fee.

"Say, you know if I could speak with the owner? I'm a wine importer from New York, and I was hoping to mix a little business with pleasure, if you know what I mean."

The large black man at the door looked down at Dante with a suspicious glare, then nodded towards the bar. "Sit there. If she wants to talk to you, she'll find you."

Dante looked around the club as he walked towards the bar. On the center stage, a red-head with long, tight curls and a black corset and matching g-string swung around a pole, while several men in business suits sat at individual tables, watching her intently.

The stages that flanked each side of the main stage were little more than circular, carpeted platforms. Both held topless brunettes, one of whom was entertaining a single, older looking gentleman, her lower body still on the stage, one hand around his neck, the other gripping the stage to hold her upper half erect, breasts protruding toward his face. A stack of bills lay on the platform next to her hand. The other platform was surrounded by a group of young men, all firmly holding a drink and bills in their hands. A riotous clamor came from the group as the woman they encircled lay on her back, legs spread wide in the air. Her legs slowly drew together and the 4 inch heels tapped together once, then twice, then her legs crossed, feet coming to rest on the carpet, she sat up and came to rest on her knees, then bent forward and crawled towards one of the men.

Everyone looked to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, even the dancers. He had never been in a club like this as saw the women who looked to be enjoying the job. Typically, the women always look somber and rarely ever smiled at the patrons, except in a sly way he supposed was supposed to be sexy, but Dante always found fake.

Dante turned away from the stages and came to rest at a stool near the center of the bar. A beautiful, middle-aged woman, dressed in tight black slacks and a shimmering midnight blue halter-top stood behind the bar, placing drinks on a tray. A young blond dressed in tiny black spandex shorts and a midnight blue t-shirt, tied up to leave her midriff exposed, a v-neck cut to expose the tops of soft-milky breasts, stood on the other side of the bar, waiting for the drink order to be filled. Dante couldn't help but follow the length of her long legs down to a pair of strappy heels, which made her legs look even longer. She was a beauty, but far too young to be the blond he was looking for. As the girl lifted the tray and turned to leave, Dante saw the back of the t-shirt clearly read "Dotty" in glittery silver letters.

"Dotty's a beauty, isn't she?" a voice asked from in front of him. Dante turned quickly, regrouping himself from his stupor from watching the girl's ass as she sashayed away. The voice continued, "You know, if you chose to sit out on the floor, she could bring you drinks instead of an old woman like me."

"Dotty, huh? So you put names on the back of the waitress uniforms. Clever." Dante turned on the charm and gave the woman a crooked grin. "But a young girl like that couldn't possibly be as lovely as a woman who has such beauty and the wisdom that comes with age." He gave her a quick wink, hoping that by being charming, he could wrangle some information from her eventually.

"Yes, well, we believe that by knowing a woman's name, the men may be a little more hands off with the waitresses, which will give them a chance to order more drinks. My name's Torrance, Torri if you like, and the only thing your flattery will get you around here is a drink. What can I get you, love?" She smiled with her dark eyes more than with her mouth as she reached down to grab a cocktail napkin to place in front of Dante.

"Torrance. That's a nice name. Are you from around here Torrance?" He gave her his crooked grin back and situated himself on the bar seat to lean in a little closer.

"Look, baby. If you're here for chattin' you've come to the wrong place." Her southern drawl was in full force now and Dante studied the chocolaty oval face and tight black curls that were pinned loosely to her head. She was teasing him, her eyes still shining with laughter. Dante knew he wouldn't get much out of her at first, but maybe a few details if he was careful.

"I'll have a white wine. Whatever you think it the best stuff back there. I have to see what I'm competing with here. The name's Dominic Pirelli. I'm a wine importer out of New York. I'd like to see the boss tonight if I can, see what I can do about improving the quality of alcohol served in a nice place like this." As Dante spoke, Torri walked away to pull a wine bottle out of the glass faced refrigerator at the far end of the bar. As she walked back towards Dante, she pulled a wine glass from the rack hanging above the mirrored wall at the back of the bar without looking.

"Not much call for wine in a place like this, Mr. Pirelli." She poured ice into the glass after she set it down, then filled it with water from the soda hose to chill it. "This is more of a beer and hard liquor joint, if you know what I mean." She leaned a hand on the bar and replaced the hose with the other, then brought it to rest on her hip.

"I can see that," Dante relented while looking around at the clientele. A few more men had joined the audience in front of the main stage while a new entertainer was welcomed by the announcer. "However," he said while turning back to Torri, "you want men in a place like this to be completely satiated, and to do that, you much have the best of the best. I can tell you right now, by looking at the label on that bottle you've brought me, that what you have for wine selection is not the best. I can help fix that."

Torri took the glass in her hand and threw its contents into the sink behind the bar. Setting the glass back onto the table, she replied, "Can you? Well, then, Mr. Pirelli. Let's talk wine, shall we?" She uncorked the bottle and poured his glass. While handing it to him, she continued. "You wanted to speak with the owner. Well, you've got her. And you'll have her full attention as soon as I get Dotty a few more drinks. Wait here, darlin'."

Lulu had entered her private dressing room shortly after eight that Monday evening. She surveyed herself in front of the mirror before heading out to the floor to hustle drinks all night. She knew she wouldn't be returning to her regular duties until the bruises cleared up. Men didn't want their whores battered; it reminded them that they were not the first man to be with them, nor the last. Men wanted to think about possessing the woman in that moment, without the strings of any past or feelings she may have.

She examined herself from the bottom up, as she was accustomed to do. A pair of high heeled Mary Janes covered her tiny feet, as opposed to the barely there four inch heels she usually wore. She needed a little more support than she usually wore because she wasn't entirely steady on her feet yet and the aching bruises made the simplest movements more difficult. She had chosen a pair of black nylon thigh-high leggings that attached to garters at the front and the back to cover her bruised leg from the rough landing on the coffee table. A red plaid, plaited skirt barely covered her lacy black underwear, which was sure to show when she bent over to retrieve fallen items or lean over a table to set out drinks. Her top was a black halter that reached high on her chest to cover the marks left on her stomach, back, and breast. Finally, her dark hair was curled into loose ringlets, that fell over her shoulders and back, completing the not-so-innocent school-girl look.

She looked deeply into her face. The heavy mascara and eyeliner made her eyes look dark and mysterious. Her heavy red lipstick covered a pair of full, unhappy lips. When was the last time she had actually smiled? She knew it had been years ago. Back when her French fiancé, Javier, doted on her every word.

They had met at a café in Paris, where she and her friends from school were pouring over their books with coffee. He had approached them, made small talk about the weather being as beautiful as the lovely girls seated before him. He had been young, intelligent, interesting. Lulu, who was still Leslie to everyone at the time, was smitten immediately.

They would walk for hours along the _Seine_, holding hands, stealing kisses, talking about a future together.

When Lulu graduated from the Parisian school, she moved in with Javier and he proposed. They spend a year together in a lovely small flat near the _Avenue des Champs-Élysées. _Then, Javier's father passed away, leaving him the _chateau_ with all its staff, as well as the _bordello_ that quickly became the bane of Lulu's existence. Javier insisted on moving into the family home and running the family whore house. He was gone all hours of the day and night, and Lulu became lonely. She welcomed the birth of her son, fully believing Javier would eventually marry her, she being the mother of his son, Lucás. She had named him after her absent father, Luke, in hopes that her son could be a better man than his grandfather, and would love her more than the namesake ever could, staying by her side rather than running off at the drop of a hat.

But Javier never married her, and after the difficult birth, when the doctor announced her inability to have more children, Javier became more distant and angry with her. He insisted that she begin serving drinks at the _bordello_. Late one night at the business, Javier demanded Lulu begin taking customers to one of the private rooms. She had argued, and he had beat her within an inch of her life. She had never been so terrified in her life. After he left to return to the family home, Lulu pulled herself off the floor, lit a candle and set it near the draperies, in hopes that it would burn the entire place down and her problem would be solved.

It did burn the building down, but Javier was un-thwarted. He picked up the household and moved them all to New Orleans, where business was beginning to pick up again after the devastation of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. He rebuild his business there, profiting more than he ever had in Paris.

Javier moved Lulu into a tiny flat near the new _bordello_ off Jackson street and refused to let her see her son unless she worked for him. She felt she had little choice, as Javier had powerful friends in the city, and she knew no one from her family would be coming for her. She had made sure they would be unable to follow her, back when she thought she and Javier were going to live happily ever after.

When she began work in New Orleans, she let Leslie die. Any hopes of help or thoughts of the girl she had been vanished and Lulu took hold.

Looking at herself in the mirror in the dark dressing room at the back of the old mansion Javier had renovated into a strip club/underground whore house, Lulu saw no trace of the child she had been. Her hard eyes stared back at her. All innocence and youthfulness were was gone. She was a pale reflection of Leslie Lu Spencer.

She stiffened her back and raised her chin. It was time to get to work.

Dante laughed as he and Torri clinked glasses of chardonnay to celebrate the deal they had just arranged for 10 crates of wine to be imported from Italy next month. He'd let Luke take care of how that was going to work out. Now that "business" was over, Dante was going to get to the real business at hand.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to have heard of a guy by the name Javier Dupont, have you, Torri?" Dante asked, nonchalantly.

"What the hell would you want to know a bastard like that?" Torri gave him a suspicious look.

"Oh, a friend of mine said he used to own a classy bordello in Paris. Said the rumor was he ended up somewhere down this way and that I should look him up if I ever had a yearning for a good time. Do you know him?" Dante was elated that she seemed to recognize the name, but cautious since she obviously had strong feelings about the guy. If he pushed too hard, she'd clam right up for sure.

"Why, Mr. Pirelli, I guess I had you pegged all wrong. I mistook you for a gentleman. You don't find many coming into a place like this, but I know 'em when I see 'em. Shame on you for asking about Javier's place. It's a downright shame the way he treats those girls of his. He's a violent man, Mr. Pirelli. Violent and dangerous. I can't believe a man like you would want to take part in the exploitation of women like that." Genuine shame filled her eyes as she looked across the bar at Dante.

Dante paused to read her face before pushing her further. She had at least a bit of the information that he needed, and so far, that information was not looking good for Leslie Spencer.

"No disrespect, ma'am, but you own a strip club. What makes this Dupont guy so different from you?" Dante narrowed his eyes, hoping she would let him in on more than just Javier's character, but on his business dealings as well.

"Pirelli, look around you. My place celebrates the form of the female body. The girls who work here and I enjoy our sexuality. None of them are touched by our patrons, and they are never forced to something they wouldn't wish to do. They are allowed to have their own lives outside of this place, no questions asked. While this may just seem like a strip club to you, this is a place a woman can work to show off all that God gave her in a way that pleases both herself and the men who enjoy looking. I do not place my girls under any contract and they are free to leave whenever they please.

"Dupont, on the other hand, does not give such a free hand to the women that work at his joint. Oh, it may look like a strip club to the officials, but all New Orleans knows what really happens in the upper rooms. My women dance for the love of themselves, and perhaps also the money that comes rolling in as a result of that. Dupont's harem performs out of fear, of extortion and of hunger. One of my girls, Sylvia, the red-head you saw dance earlier, narrowly escaped his grasp. She was there for less than a year, but was able to buy herself out. She's been working for me ever since and loves it. There's a fine line between sexuality and slavery when it comes to the fairer sex, Mr. Pirelli, and Dupont has left that line in the dust."

Dante sat back in his seat and contemplated all Torri had told him. If this was true, and if Leslie was still with Javier, she may not be in the most pleasant situation. Dante would certainly have to get creative if he did indeed find her there and wanted to get her out. This certainly wasn't the lifestyle Mr. Spencer would want his daughter subjected to. Not when she could have every comfort afforded to her if she would just return home.

"Where can I find this place, Torri? I'd like to see it for myself."


	4. Chapter 4: The Find

**Author's Note**: Thanks for all the kind reviews. I know this story is dark, but sometimes I get tired of fanfiction that is all rainbows and butterflies. If you are looking for something more cheerful, please check out my past Dante/Lulu fic.

This note is really just to correct a mistake I have been making. I've been spelling Lesley "Leslie." So, to be true to GH, I'd like to make that correction.

If you find any other inconsistencies or mistakes, please PM me. I am happy to get the feedback.

Enjoy Dante and Lulu's first scene together in this fic and keep reviewing, please.

**The Find**

Dante arrived at the _Le Désir de Vénus_ or The Desire of Venus after eleven o'clock that same evening. The price of admission was set steeply at $50, bringing Dante relief that Spencer had entrusted him with so much money that he felt obliged to buy a new wardrobe. This was definitely the type of place only the sincerely wealthy frequented, and he was sure the $50 was just to sit inside and didn't cover any of the "services."

Torri's warnings firmly in mind, Dante entered the faux strip club cautiously. It was not dimly lit, as many bars and night clubs were. Instead, Dante felt like he was walking into a genuine 19th century French mansion. Walking past the foyer and into, what must have been in the mansion's past life, the ballroom, Dante scanned the crowd. High class business types sat around groupings of couches and loveseats while a few women sat on the arms or on laps. A few more intimate seating arrangements held lone men, sipping drinks and watching the waitresses saunter around with trays they seem to retrieve from one of the rooms off to the side. At the far end of the large room, a woman, dressed in a blue sequined corset with black fringed skirt, wrapped her leg around a pole and twirled around. Soft jazz filled the air.

Dante seated himself in a corner of the room where he hoped he wouldn't be disturbed too often, but where he could observe his fellow patrons, as well as keep an eye out for anyone that may look like Lesley or Javier.

He eyed one of the waitresses walking by and nodded her over. As she approached, she kept her eyes down, except for a few sultry glances up to meet his eyes through thick lashes. The cat-like brown eyes staring into his own surprised him. The look was sexual, to be sure, but Dante thought he saw something else held beneath the surface that his detective brain tried to grasp, but came up empty. He let his eyes wander to the crimson lips, where not a hint of a smile lurked. He had barely gotten over his initial assessment of her face when she had arrived at his seat.

"Can I get you a drink, handsome?" she asked as she bent herself over to look him in the eyes, leaving her ass high in the air for anyone behind her to admire.

Her eyes, once fully looking at him, made his heart rise in his chest. Remembering to be the suave, collected, businessman Dominic, he smiled crookedly and gave her a wink. "Bet you say that to all the guys, don't you?"

The right side of her lip twitched up just a bit, and her eyes began to shine just a little. Dante bet she was truly gorgeous when she really smiled. Not that she wasn't a looker. He let his eyes continue their initial descent, from her light brown eyes, back to her lips, tracing down her slender neck, slightly covered by the top of her black halter, to the curve of her breasts, down to her narrow waste, to the slenderness of her muscled legs under the tights. He imagined himself unbuttoning the garters and rolling the leggings down her legs, caressing her thighs and buttocks. Suddenly, the reason for his appearance in this place returned to him and his eyes snapped back to hers. To his amusement, she was no longer looking at him, but at a place behind the wall to his left, with an expression that Dante tried to categorize. Boredom? Annoyance? Maybe it was just empty. Like her soul was turned off.

Dante's amused smirk turned to a frown as he placed the waitresses expression.

She had caught the quick movement of Dante's shifting head and the vacant expression quickly became a scowl. Then the sultry look returned and she purred, "Something funny?"

If she could pretend nothing was wrong, so could Dante. He had a job to do, after all. His smirk returned as he asked, "So, how long have you been working here, uh, I'm sorry I didn't catch your name."

"If you're looking for small talk, you're asking the wrong woman. I'm just here to satisfy your thirst, sugar. Now, what can I get you?" Dante could see she was slightly annoyed at first, something that most people wouldn't notice, but his trained ear detected a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Bring me a glass of the best wine you have. I'll trust your judgment. I'm sure you know what's good here." Dante replied coolly while eying her carefully. As she straightened up, he noticed a slight wince and intake of breath.

Reaching her full height, she replied quietly, "Right away," and turned to go.

Dante watched as she walked away, allowing himself to return briefly to the fantasy he had started earlier, then wondering as to the cause of the look of pain when she stood. While completely distracted, Dante didn't notice the blond approach him from the other side of the chair.

"Hey there, baby," she drawled as she slid around him to place both of her hands on the chair arms. She slid them forward and moved in close to Dante and whispered into his ear, "Don't go starin' after Lulu, darlin'. You don't want an old grump like that." She pulled her face back to look at him. "Wouldn't you prefer a fresh young thang like me to keep you company?" She gave him a bright smile.

Dante has smiled back at her, which she took as an invitation to climb into his lap, putting one arm behind his head, caressing his hair. Dante gave a short chuckle. Recognizing that this blond was not the one he was looking for, nor did she seem smart enough to give him the answers he sought, Dante began an attempt to get her away from him, before he really did forget why he was here. "So, Lulu's her name. She wouldn't tell me."

"I told you, darlin', she's a grump. But enough about her. What brings you to town? I never seen you here before." She began stroking his face with her manicured nails, bringing them from his temple to his jaw, then taking one from his jaw to his lip where she began to circle them until her nail pulled his lower lip down.

Dante reached up to grasp her wrist and gently pull it away. "I'm just drinking tonight. Why don't you head on your way now?"

The girl huffed and got up off his lap immediately. The waitress she had called Lulu was standing there. "I see you've met Jasmine."

"Yea, he met me all right. But all he wants is to talk about _you_ and have _you_ bring him drinks." Turning to face Dante, she added, "You come find me when you realize what you _really_ want." Jasmine walked away, immediately finding an older gentlemen and beginning the process all over again.

Dante just smiled as he watched the interaction. "Wow, she really doesn't like, you, does she, Lulu?" he asked while turning back towards his server. A look of surprise briefly filled her face.

"I guess not." Lulu shrugged it off. "Here's your wine." As she began to bend over to set it on the table beside him, Dante stood up.

"No!" The quickness of his movements shocked Lulu a bit and the wine splashed onto her top.

She cried out as the liquid hit her chest. Dante immediately took the wine and began apologizing. Setting it on the table himself, he turned back around, took a napkin from the tray and began helping Lulu, who was already blotting, wipe off the blouse.

"I'm so sorry. Here, let me help you." Dante focused his attention on the top.

"It's fine. I've got it." Lulu tried to wave him away.

"No, I'll help. And it's red wine, too. I am so sorry." He continued to wipe at the blouse.

"Well, you're not helping much by wiping. You have to blot wine." She was definitely irritated with him.

Dante couldn't help but smile at this. She was definitely a little feisty one. Lulu turned away, apparently so he would stop "helping."

"What were you doing anyway, jumping up like that?" she snapped.

"I was trying to help. I saw when you had bent over last time that you winced when you stood up again. I didn't want you to have to put yourself in any more pain just to serve me a glass of wine," Dante replied honestly.

Lulu whipped back around and gave him an icy glare. "What the hell are you talking about?" As she raised her voice, several people around them turned to see what the commotion was about. Lulu, taking note of this, changed immediately. Her scowl was replaced by an artificial smile, her face turned to the side, and her eyelashes began fluttering erratically. If Dante didn't know she was angry, he would think this was the sexiest look he had ever received. In fact, knowing she was angry made this definitely the sexiest look he'd ever seen.

While smiling, Lulu said firmly, "What give you the right to think you can do something for me? What gives you the idea that I even _need_ it? I'm _fine_."

Dante, smirking at her, took a step forward so they were chest to chest, looked her in the eyes and replied, "I don't think you are fine, and if you ever need help, you can count on me to be there." He took a business card for Dominic Pirelli, Wine Importer, with his phone number to the cellular Luke had provided, and slipped it between her collarbone and the halter neck that he had recently ruined.

The two stood there staring at each other; Dante's eyes turned sincere, studying Lulu's. He observed that she looked both confused and pissed. The onlookers had turned away, much more concerned with their own desire than a pair that looked as if they were about to take a trip upstairs to the private rooms.

Lulu broke the eye contact first, backed up and turned to pick up the tray she had set aside to blot down the wine spill. Dante reached the tray first and handed it to her.

"I'll," she cleared her throat and taking the tray, "I'll just go refill your wine, sir."

"Actually, what would help me more," Dante's childish grin returned to his face, "is if you could point me to the owner. I'm a wine importer and I was hoping to chat with him about adding to his selection. You were helping me taste the competition. Do you know where I can find him?"

Lulu's eyes turned down. She looked around a little to see if anyone was paying attention, then returned to looking at the carpet. "He's away tonight on business." She added carefully, almost in a whisper, "But you don't want to do business with a guy like him." Then she turned and walked away to group to retrieve empty glasses and take another drink order.

Dante turned back to his seat. Took the glass of wine in his hand, drank what remained in the glass and looked around the room for any other blond that he may have missed.

As Lulu turned to walk back to the side room to retrieve drink orders, Dante walked up to her, set down his empty glass of wine on the tray with the other empty glasses, and took her arm to stop her from walking on. Standing along her side, he leaned in to whisper, "I'll be back tomorrow." He turned his face to look at her profile. She stared straight ahead, icily, as if she didn't even recognize he was there. Then, he released her arm and she walked away.

Watching her go, Dante wondered what it was about her that made her so fascinating to him. Then he walked in the opposite direction to leave.

* * *

><p>Lulu reached the side room, set down the tray on the counter, then went over to stand next to the wall. Leaning her back and head against it, she closed her eyes and rubbed her arm where Dante had touched her. Then, remembering the business card, she quickly stood up, retrieved it from her shirt and looked at the name.<p>

Dominic Pirelli, New York Wine Imports, Inc.

What was a wine importer from New York doing in New Orleans trying to help whores?

Typically, she was so indifferent, she never let the customers get to her. So, why did this one infuriate her so much?

She tucked the card back into her shirt, and went to go switch out the old glasses for fresh drinks. She wouldn't think about it now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow on her morning walk she could think about this. But right now, she had to get back to work.


End file.
